Stay thou, whom chance directs, or ease persuades To seek the quiet of these Sylvan shades; Here, undisturb’d and hid from vulgar eyes, A Wit, Musician, Poet, player lies; A dancing master, too, in grace he shone, And all the acts of Opera were his own; In comedy well skill’d he drew Lord Flame, Acted the part and gained himself the name. Averse to strife, how oft he’d gravely say These peaceful groves should shade his breathless clay; That, when he rose again, laid here alone, No friend and he should quarrel for a bone; Thinking, that were some old lame Gossip nigh, She possibly might take his leg or thigh. PRESBURY. Beneath this stône lyes Edward Green, Who for cutting stône famous was seên. But he was sênt to apprehend One Joesph Clarke, of Kerredge End, For stêaling Deer of Squire Dounes, Where he was shôt, and died o’th wounds. DAVENHAM. On David Berkenhead. A tailor by profession, And in the practice, a plain and honest man. He was a useful member of society; For, though he picked holes in no man’s coat, He was ever ready to repair The mischief that others did. And whatever _breaches_ broke out in _families_, He was the man to mend _all_, And make matters up _again_. He lived and died respected. Forty years’ service in Lord Penryhn’s family, induced Lady Penryhn to bestow this stone to his memory. CHESTER. On an Old Woman who sold Pots. Beneath this stone lies Cath’rine Gray, Changed to a lifeless lump of clay. By earth and clay she got her pelf, Yet now she’s turn’d to Earth herself. Ye weeping friends, let me advise, Abate your grief, and dry your eyes. For what avails a flood of tears? Who knows, but in a run of years, In some tall pitcher or broad pan, She in her shop may be again? CHESTER. Periwinks! Periwinkle! was ever her cry, She laboured to live Poor and honest to die; At the last day Again how her old Eyes will twinkle, For no more will she cry, Periwinks! Periwinkle! Ye Rich, to Virtue’s want rejoicing give, Ye Poor, by her Example learn to live. * * * * * On a Sexton. Hurra! my brave Boys, let’s rejoice at his fall, For if he had lived he had Buried us all. WESTON. On a Parish Church. There lies entomb’d within this vault so dark, A Tailor, cloth draw’r, soldier, and a clerk. Death snatch’d him hence, and also from him took His needle, thimble, sword, and prayer book. He could not work nor fight, what then? He left the world, and faintly cry’d—Amen. ST. JOHN’S CHURCH, CHESTER. On a swift-footed Man.